CHAPTER X.

Arrival at Venice: The ubiquitous Gondola: The Grand Canal: The curious water ways: Our Hotel: A snap shot of a Gondola and its freight: St. Mark’s Cathedral: Its curious history: Its wonderful Tower, and its interior adornments.

I think it was the most thrilling moment of our tour, as our train left Mestra, and almost immediately we began crossing the long bridge (two-and-a-half miles long) which crosses the lagoon, we seem to be travelling right into the sea, the gentle ripple of the watery waves by moonlight as they extend on either side of the line, has a pleasing effect. The peculiar smell of the seaweed is strong in the air, and right ahead is Venice, of which some poet has sung:

“There is a glorious city in the sea,The sea is in the broad, the narrow streetsEbbing and flowing, and the salt seaweedClings to the marble of her palaces.No track of men, no footsteps to and froLead to her gates! the path lies o’er the sea,Invisible: And from the land we wentAs to a floating city—steering in,And gliding up her streets as in a dream,So smoothly, silently—by many a domeMosque-like, and many a stately porticoThe statues ranged along an azure sky,By many a pile, in more than Eastern pride,Of old the residence of merchant kings;The fronts of some, tho’ time hath shattered them,Still glowing with the richest hues of art,As though the wealth within them had run o’er.”

Our arrival at Venice was about eight o’clock in the evening, surely no time so fitting to be introduced to the fair Queen of the Adriatic. From the busy, bustling railway station we were concluded by a Fakena, who brought up our luggage to a gondola lying in the shimmering sea just outside. No cabs or ’bus as at other stations, the gondola seemed to be everywhere. As we stepped into our new found equipage we were entranced, imagination fails to picture a sight so bewitching. Lights in a thousand directions, gondolas passing and repassing as we sweep through the principal waterway, then turn sharp round a corner as our gondolier cries: “Stali priene gai e” as he passes others with most wonderful precision. We were thus conveyed to the door of the Grand HotelVictoria, where for a short time we were to make our home. We found the house all we could desire, warm, clean sweet, and fitted up almost luxuriantly. To bed and a rest, and oh! how sweet after toil and travel. We were awake and out early to see the sights of this unique city. We opened our eyes on a lovely picture, soft, dreamy, beautiful. The water, dotted over in all directions, with this strange craft. It seems this is the only means of locomotion. No cabs, omnibuses, carts, or even a barrow. There is no animal in Venice larger than a dog. Here the universal bike cometh not. The fashionable or unfashionable motor neither puffs nor smells. The train must not approach nearer than the head of the Grand Canal. A horse would be as great a novelty in Venice, I should think, as a ship in full sail would be in Wheeler Gate, Nottingham. Right from the water’s edge at our hotel door, we could see gondolas gliding swiftly hither and thither. In Byron’s “Beppo” we find the following lines:

“Did’st ever see a Gondola; for fear you should notI’ll describe it exactly,’Tis a long covered boat common here,Carved at the prow, built lightly but compactly,Rowed by two rowers, each called gondolier;It glides along the water looking blackly,Just like a coffin clapt in a canal,Where none can make out what you say or do.”

Mrs. Wardle and Miss Himmel in gondola, Venice

Appearing suddenly, through unsuspected gateways and alleys, yonder, we see vast bridges and stately palaces of marble throw their shadows athwart the glittering waves. There seems life and motion everywhere, and yet there is no noise. There seems a hush as if suggestive of secret enterprise, of mysterious shadows, of the departed greatness of this still great city. Old Petrarch might well exclaim: “I know not that the world hath the equal of this place.”

Standing at our hotel door, the gondolier waiting for my wife and our friend Miss Himmel, I ventured (after they had seated themselves) to take a snap with my camera to secure some little permanent reminder of the curiosity of this manner of travel. The gondola is a most handy and quick means of getting about. We were out in the Grand Canal, and the sight was, to say the least, most interesting. Here is a party of young ladies and gentlemen, with their gondola decorated with ribbons in various colours, and with them, evidently, an opera or chorus party, with their guitar, and some otherpeculiar instruments of music, but sweet as the evening zephyrs, as the sounds floated over the silvery sea. The gondolas are all black, why? I am unable to say; but I don’t think I saw one either brown or red, or green or white, simply painted black. The stern of the boat is usually decorated with a kind of matting or carpet, at its prow the gondolier stands, he has only a single oar. A long bladed oar, so he stands erect. How he can scull ahead at such a speed is a mystery, and at once pull back when there is danger. He seems to make all his calculations with the greatest precision, he never makes a mistake. Mark Twain says: “The gondolier is a picturesque rascal for all he wears no satin harness, no plumed bonnet, no silken tights. His attitude is stately, he is lithe and supple; all his movements are full of grace.”

A party of ladies go out shopping in a gondola, this may seem strange, but it is really true. They flit from street to street, and from shop to shop, they leave the gondola as a lady here leaves her carriage or her motor, by the curb, while they have rolls and rolls of silk or muslin or linen unrolled, and then, perhaps, have just enough cloth to make the pet dog at home a paletot. Human nature, we find, is much the same the world over. Boys and girls go to school in thegondola, while they jump and kick, and fight on the way, but only in play, until landed at the school house gateway. Nurses are out in the gondola with babies for an airing, and to pass away the sunny hours on the waters. Families go to church in the gondolas, dressed in their best, they are soon sculled to the place where they are wont to worship. The mail boat is a gondola, with its freight of letters newly arrived, and is always interesting. Funerals are also carried out in the same way. The gondola is heavily draped in black velvet and silver trimmings, and furnished with huge candles lighted, surmounting the canopy, under which lies one who, in his turn has trodden the silent highways in the enjoyment of health, but is now on his last journey, accompanied by the solemn chant of the priestly requiem. Business men come or go in the gondola as we do here in cab or motor. The doctor visits his patients in and out of the quaint old city, not on a bicycle, but in a gondola. We saw a party flitting, the furniture remover brought his gondolas, and furniture was handed out into this strange vehicle for such a purpose. At Venice it is common, indeed, the only way possible of conveying goods or furniture from house to house. So, for almost all purposes, the gondola is useful. We found it a mostenjoyable, as well as a speedy means of getting about. To say there are no streets in Venice would be hardly true, or to say you cannot get from place to place only by water. There are only three bridges cross the Grand Canal which divides the city into pretty nearly equal halves. The city is built upon one hundred and seventeen islands, intersected by one hundred and fifty small canals, and two thousand five hundred and eighty passages or waterways; but almost all the waterways have a footpath bordering it, while four hundred bridges unite one island to another. It is, however, very bewildering to pace the mazes of this strange city. If you get five hundred yards from your starting point, you may have to cross half a dozen bridges before you can get back again.

St. Mark’s Cathedral, Venice

Our first visit was paid to the cathedral or church of St. Mark’s, and this wonderful building, for it is a wonderful place, has a wonderful history; it is this: when the Caliph of Alexandria, who was bitterly opposed to the Christian religion, was building for himself a magnificent palace, he gave orders that the most precious marbles were to be procured for its adornment, and to this end the Christian churches were to be stripped of their richest treasure. A raid was made on the church of St. Mark at Alexandria, wherethe body of the Saint was said to rest in a state of spiritual repose, and so great was the grief of the two Greek Priests who officiated in the temple that their cries and lamentations came to the ears of two Venetian merchants who chanced to be trading in that port. When these merchants found out the cause of their trouble they offered to take away the body of St. Mark and secure for it a sweet resting place in their own country. The Priests at first disliked the idea, but when the temple was profaned and robbed and stripped of all that made it attractive, they gave consent. It was a work that was very risky they thought, for St. Mark had been known to work strange miracles, and was held in great awe and veneration by the people. However, they entered the tomb in which the body lay, cut open the wrapper in which the sacred remains were enfolded, removed the body and substituted the body of St. Claudian therein. How to carry the body away safely was their next consideration. They fell upon the following stratagem. Placing the body in a large basket covered with herbs and savoury joints of pork, they bore it along the streets crying: “Khan zir! Khan zir!” Pork! Pork! A cry hateful to all true Mussulmen. In this manner they reached the vessel with their precious burden in safety, where, inorder to make sure of their prize, they concealed the body in the sails until they left the city. It is said the Venetians received the sacred remains with wild demonstrations of joy. A succession of fetes were given, ceremonies were held in honour of the Saint, pilgrims flocked to the shrine from all parts of the world. A revival in the fortunes of the Venetian Republic followed, and for a time the cry was often heard “Viva san Marco!” To secure a fitting resting place for the body thus secured from Alexandria, this church of St. Mark was built. It is a five domed Romanesque structure, decked with 500 marble columns. It contains more than 45,000 square feet of mosaics of the tenth century. In form it is of a Greek cross. Marble from the Haram floors of Eastern potentates panel its walls and cover its principal porticos, and over its grand portals stand the four horses of gilded bronze which were taken from the arches of Nero and Trajan at Rome. They were first taken by Constantine in the fourth century after Christ to Venice. Then they were taken from Venice again, and this time to Paris by Napoleon, but they were restored to Venice in the year 1815. And here, as we saw them, they look most attractive. The Campanile or Tower of St. Mark’s is not a part of the building, butstands a little way off. It rises to the height of 322 feet, and at the top is one of the largest and finest vanes I ever saw, it is that of an angel with wings outstretched gilded with gold. It was from the tower of St. Mark’s that Galileo made most of his astronomical observations. We visited several churches of importance, but they are pretty much alike. All have their high altars and immense wax candles burning; the picture of the Madonna in prominent places. The confessional box for the natives, also for strangers and travellers such as we were. We, however, declined to patronize this particular line. If we must confess at all, we certainly take the Psalmist for our ideal, he said: “I said I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord, and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sins.” Psalm 32, verse 5. Plenty of Holy Water and evidently plentifully used, as nearly every one coming in puts his fingers in the bowl and makes the sign of the cross on his forehead. Cowled monks paced the floor with noiseless tread. Priests and Bishops in their distinctive dress are not scarce. I gathered from some source that there are 1,200 priests in Venice, a city of about 100,000 people. It seems as if everything had to bend to the church and the priest. In the church you have riches without end, there are huge columns carved out ofsolid marble and inlaid from top to bottom with hundreds of delicate figures wrought in costly verde antique; pulpits of the richest material, whose draperies hang down in many a lovely picture, showing the artist’s work from the loom. The Grand Altar, brilliant with agate, jasper and all manner of precious stones and slabs of what is almost priceless, the lapis lazuli, which is on all sides lavishly laid as if of no value. Yet in the midst of all this display of wealth and of lavish expenditure, all about and at the doors of the churches a dozen or more of hats or bonnets are doffed and heads bowed in mute appeal and a hundred hands extended appealing for help. Appealing in a language we could not understand, but with sad, pitiful eyes and hollow cheeks and tattered garments, no words were needed to translate their wants. I wondered why all these riches should lie idle and so many poor actually starving. Mark Twain, when visiting Italy, said: “Oh! Sons of classic Italy, is the spirit of enterprize, of self reliance, of noble endeavour, utterly dead within ye. Why don’t you rob the church?”

The Pigeons in St. Mark’s Square: Further description of the interior: The Palace of the Doges: “The Bridge of Sighs”: The general Archives of Venice: The Church of Santa Maria dei Frari: London Polytechnic Party: Some of the slums of Venice: Our farewell.

In the Piazza of St. Mark’s there may be seen, almost any time, some hundreds of pigeons. They are very tame, we passed them so closely I think we could have picked them up in our arms. There is an old legend that these pigeons are the safety valve of Venice. How? it is difficult to learn, but they are regarded almost with reverence. Twice a day they are fed by the public authorities. A huge bell is rung, and they come from all quarters of the city. They know the time of feeding and to show visitors that this is true, when the bell is not rung, the pigeons are there. If anyone hurts or kills one of these pigeons, he is fined heavily for the first offence, if it is repeated he is imprisoned. We went inside this beautiful church of St. Mark’s and at first we could not realise the magnificence, the beauty, the costliness of its interior. The columns ofporphry and amalachite and verde antique, panels glittering with gold and gems, pavements dazzling in mosaic work.

After some time we began to realize the splendours by which we were surrounded. Mr. Ruskin, I think, gives a fine picture in very simple words of the beauties and richness of St. Mark’s: “Then opens before us a vast cave hewn out in the form of a cross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. Round the domes of its roof, the light enters only through narrow apertures, like large stars; here and there a ray or two from some far away casement wanders into darkness, and casts a narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves of marble that heave and fall in a thousand colours upon the floor. What else there is of light is from torches or silver lamps burning ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels. The roof sheathed with gold, and the polished walls, covered with rich alabaster, gives back at every curve and angle some feeble gleaming to the flames: and the glories round the heads of the sculptured saints flash out upon us as we pass them, and sink into gloom. Under foot and over head a continual succession of crowded imagery, one picture passing into another as in a dream; forms beautiful and terrible, mixed together, dragons and serpents and ravenous beasts ofprey, and graceful birds that in the midst of them, drink from running fountains and feed from vases of crystal. The passions and pleasures of human life symbolized together and the mystery of its redemption; for the mass of interwoven lines and changeful pictures lead always at last to the Cross lifted and carved in every place and upon every stone, sometimes with the serpent of eternity wrapped around it, with doves beneath its arms, and sweet herbage growing forth from its feet. But conspicuous most of all is the great road that crosses the church before the altar, raised in the bright blazonry against the shadow of the Apse.”

To describe all the interior of this lovely structure would be as easy as to describe our British Museum in London. We were enchanted, bewildered, surprised. The baptistery, with its sculptured front, and for an altar piece a massive granite slab, on which, it is alleged, our Lord stood when he preached to the inhabitants of Tyre. Then the choir stalls are rich in carvings of every description, indeed, everywhere about us are treasures unspeakable. The outside is hardly less wonderful than the inside, with its domes, spires, statues, arches and columns, which fairly bewilder you, as for the first time your eyes fall upon such marvellous productions ofthe skilful workmanship of man. The King’s palace or what is called the Palace of the Doges is just against the Piazza or Square of St. Mark’s. Against one of the columns at the entrance I took a snapshot of my dear wife and our friend Miss Himmel. This place is full of things ancient and interesting. Ruskin says of its many coloured marbles, columns, arches, and curiously sculptured windows: “A piece of rich and fantastic colour, as lovely a dream as ever filled the imagination.” It has been twice destroyed by fire, but from the ashes it has arisen more beautiful than ever; here it stands to-day a monument of a strange and eventful history of over one thousand years.

Mrs. Wardle and Miss Himmel by The Doges Pillar, Venice

The power of the Doges it seems, was an absolute power for a time, yet was of uncertain tenure. Out of fifty, it is said, five abdicated, nine were exiled, five were banished and their eyes put out, and five were massacred, this up to 1172. Life was of little value in those days, even amongst kings, nor was it less so amongst the people, as often a man accused was condemned without trial, punishment was swift and sure and secret, generally by strangulation in prison, or by drowning, hands tied and body weighted. It was no uncommon sight in those days in this land to see a body swinging from the gallows by thewayside. No one dared to enquire about the unhappy man’s fate, or he stood in danger of similar treatment. Everywhere there was unsafety and fear. As Rogers, one of our poets, puts it:

“A strange mysterious power was there,Moving throughout; subtle, invisibleAnd universal as the air they breathed.A power that never slumbered, never pardoned,All eye, all ear, nowhere, and everywhere;Most potent when least thought of—Nothing droptIn secret, when the heart was on the lips,Nothing in feverish sleep, but instantlyObserved and judged—A power that if but glanced atIn casual converse, be it where it might,The speaker lowered at once his eyes, his voiceAnd pointed upwards as to God in heaven.But, let him in the midnight air indulgeA word, a thought against the laws of Venice,And in that hour he vanished from the earth.”

Those were dark days in this city of wealth and power. We were not permitted inside the palace, but were allowed to ascend the staircase at the head of which is the famous “lions’ mouths,” into which, in ancient times, were placed terrible denunciations, secretletters, etc., which meant, what I have already referred to, imprisonment, torture or death. Also, along a long corridor, where we could see the busts of the Venetian heroes, whose names were enrolled in the “Golden Book.” Beyond is the hall of the Grand Council, in which are some of the richest and most valuable pictures in Venice. There is Tintoretto’s masterpiece, “The glory of Paradise,” the largest picture (74 feet long) ever painted on canvas, the most precious thing in Venice to-day. From the hall of the Grand Council, there is further on the hall of the Council of Ten. Indeed, the rooms are so many, so large and so full of things of interest, we left the place greatly interested and very tired.

Another marvellous old church we visited was erected in 1565. It is, however, much like other churches, full of pictures, bronze statues and carvings in wood in great variety. The tomb of Titian is an object of interest in the Church of Frari, but time does not permit us to dwell upon it. The offices of the general archives of Venice are very fine buildings, they were in the cloisters of the Frari, they are now simply the resting places of the most ancient records of the old republic. It is said there are now over fourteen million volumes of immense value stored there. They occupy thirteen large rooms. The museumis a place worth a visit to those who are interested in curios. It belongs to the city, and in it are many curiosities, chiefly artistical and archaeological—antique medals, armoury, engravings, books, ivory, engraved stones. It is a place of great interest.

We crossed the famous “Bridge of Sighs,” immortalised by Lord Byron, who says:

“I stood in Venice, on the bridge of sighs,A palace and a prison on each hand.”

It was built in the year 1610. We could not fail to remember Tom Hood’s pathetic poem, written, it is believed, after seeing a poor girl, one of the unfortunates, whose corpse has just been discovered in the cold black waters under this bridge of sighs—Drowned! drowned!

“One more unfortunate weary of breath,Rashly importunate, gone to her death;Take her up tenderly, lift her with care;Fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair.Touch her not scornfully, think of her mournfully,Gently and humanly; not of the stains of her,All that remains of her now is pure womanly.Make no deep scrutiny into her mutiny,Rash and undutiful, past all dishonour,Death has left on her only the beautiful.Still for all slips of hers, one of Eve’s family,Wipe those poor lips of hers, oozing so clammily.Loop up her tresses, escaped from the comb,Her fair auburn tresses, while wonderment guessesWhere was her home? Who was her father?Who was her mother? Had she a sister?Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer oneStill and a nearer one yet than the others?Alas for the rarity of christian charityUnder the sun, Oh! it was pitiful!Near to a city full, home she had none.Where the lamps quiver, so far on the river,With many a light from window and casementFrom garret to basement, she stood with amazementHomeless by night. The bleak wind of MarchMade her tremble and quiver, but not the dark archOr the black flowing river, mad with life’s historyGlad to death’s mystery, swift to be hurledAnywhere, anywhere, out of the world.In she plunged boldly, no matter how coldlyThe rough river ran.Over the brink of it. Picture it, think of it.Then if you can, take her up tenderly,Lift her with care; fashioned so slenderly,So young and so fair. E’er her limbs frigidlyStiffen so rigidly, decently, kindlySmooth and compose them, and her eyes close themStaring so blindly, dreadfully staringThrough muddy impurity. As when the daringLast look of despairing, fixed on futurity.Perishing gloomily, spurned by contumely,Cold inhumanity, burning insanity,Into her rest—Cross her hands humblyAs if praying dumbly, over her breast.Owning her weakness, her evil behaviour,And leaving with meakness her sins to her Saviour.”

The bridge derives its name from the fact that criminals crossed it from the judge’s chamber to the prison. This passage used to be on the bridge: “The way of the transgressors is hard.” The bridge is a single arch of one span of ninety feet. There are some nice shops on the top. Our next visit was to the church of San G. Maggiore. Amongst so many churches that we visited, I must not omit to name the old church of Santa Mari dei Frari. It is about five hundred years old. It is said the heart of Titian lies somewhere here. He died at the age of about one hundred years. A plague was raging at the time of his death, which carried awaysomething like fifty thousand of the inhabitants of Venice. Yet such was the esteem in which he was held, the state permitted a public funeral in that season of death and terror. In this church there is a fine monument to one of the Kings “Foscari.” It is in its way a curiosity. It is over forty feet high, and is fronted in such a peculiar fashion, I could only liken it to some heathen temple. Against it are four black men, as black as the blackest marble could be, dressed in white garments of marble. Their black legs are bare, and through places that seem torn in breeches and sleeves, the shining black marble shows. Above all this sits the departed Doge or King.

“The Church of Santa Maria della Salute.” On our way home we dropped from our gondola to have a look at this sacred building. It stands nearly at the entrance of the Grand Canal. A hundred statues adorn the facades. It is said the building rests upon over one million massive piles driven deeply into the sea. It was erected in response to a vow, so it is said, in the year 1631. Sixty thousand inhabitants were swept away by a terrible plague. The then Doge vowed a vow to build a costly church in honour of the Virgin, if the plague was stayed, from the day the vow was made, nomore deaths occurred, and every year this event is commemorated in a festival. Reaching home tired, we soon went to bed and rested. Rising refreshed and it being Sunday morning, we felt a need of our English Sabbath with its quiet rest and worship. This, however, was partly supplied by a party from the Polytechnic in London, who, we found, were sleeping at our hotel, so we joined them, after we had breakfasted, in their songs, and so passed a part of the sacred day happily and pleasantly. We visited one of the principal manufactories of mosaics and carvings. A gentleman, who spoke fairly good English, escorted us through these extensive works. The building was, at one time, one of the Ducal Palaces. Room after room, full of the finest mosaics, cameos, china works in every conceivable variety, statuary, and carvings. Some of these works of art are almost priceless. We bought a few small specimens of the Venetians’ workmanship. These large palaces of days long past are crumbling to ruins. Byron says:

“In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no more,And silent rows the songless gondolier.Her palaces are crumbling on the shore,And music greets not always now the ear.”

Among the many places of interest in thisvery interesting old-world city, that we cannot stay to describe, are the Mint, the Arsenal, the Public Gardens, Titian’s house, Academy of Fine Arts, etc. We had just a look at what we should call the slums, I mean the places where live the poor, and the poor are very poor. Someone has compared Venice to a page of music, with its curious streets, palaces, museums, canals and bridges, resembling lines, notes, double notes, crotchets, pauses; its long and straight, its short, narrow and crooked ways, its open spaces scattered up and down, its mounting and descending of bridges. The comparison holds good in as far as the stranger may easily lose his way and not easily find it again, in this maze of land and water. In Venice nearly everything is sold in the open-air in the poorer quarters, and almost everything that is eaten, is eaten in the open-air. Stalls, where fish or mutton is grilled or fried, and passed hot into the al fresco customer’s hands. Turning into a sequestered nook resembling one of the openings in our Narrow Marsh, we saw a number of girls, very good looking damsels, with guitars and dulcimers, they were giving a serenade to the poor of that quarter. They are the pearl threaders. The pearl threading is an occupation prevalent in Venice, as embroidery was at one time inEngland. A home of the poor was being removed from one house to another, the furniture consisted simply of a bedstead and a huge chest or coffer with a stool or two, and a small wooden table. These constituted their whole inventory. Nothing of marble or mosaic here. Nothing of gold or purple, only squalor, poverty and rags. And now we think we have seen Venice, our time also is used up or nearly so. We have surely seen enough of the profusion of costly ornamentation in the old churches. We gazed upon pictures until our eyes were weary of looking at the finest works of the painters’ art ever produced. We have surely learned something in this old-world city of the deeds and doings of bygone ages. To have seen St. Mark’s and its wonderful Campanile or Tower, and the Palace of the ancient Kings or Doges, and the Grand Square, and the Bronze Horses that figure in so many legends (it is said there are hundreds of people in this curious old city that have never seen a living horse). We think we have now seen Venice, and if this had been all we had seen on this tour, it would be worth all the cost and all the trouble to have seen this city on the sea.

Our new found friend, Miss Himmel, left us in the early morning, her next visit was to Munich. We wished her good-bye and Godspeed, for in our very short acquaintance we had learned to look upon her as a dear friend. And so we leave Venice, calling it as Goethe does: “a grand work of collective human effort. A glorious monument, not of a ruler, but a people.” So we departed, our gondola was at our hotel door early, we settled up, he swung out and we were at the station and caught the 9.45 for Milan.

Arrival in Milan: Our visit to the Cathedral: Its Spires, and Turrets: Its Stained Glass Windows, Altars, Pictures, and Sculpture: The Church of St. Ambrogio: The Bera Picture Gallery: The Hospital: Leaving Milan: Arrival at Como: Lake Como.

As we steamed out of this dear old city, a palace of dreams, we looked back with a lingering desire to know her better. Across the lagoons we were soon out of waterways and amongst the mountains of Italy; scenery lovely, bewitching, enchanting. With a certain poet

“I ask myself is this a dream?Will it all vanish into thin air?Is there a land of such supremeAnd perfect beauty anywhere?”

For a long time we sped on through mountainous country whose peaks were bright with sunshine, the hillsides were dotted with pretty villas, which were surrounded with lovely gardens full of shubbery, or ravines that looked cool and shady. Before the day had begun to wane, we caught glimpses ofthe great city of Milan, and soon we were being driven to “Hotel Europe.” We found it all we could desire, large, clean, well fitted and most moderate. Our great desire, of course, was to see the wonderful cathedral. We had heard so much of this grand, solemn, vast, airy, peaceful building, that we could hardly sleep for the thought that we were so near what our eyes were aching to see. We rose refreshed, and, after a good breakfast, we sallied forth to feast our eyes on the object we had heard of so often, but never seen. Into the streets we went in a fever of excitement. In this direction and in that, around us, behind us, before us were busy crowds. At last, a very forest of graceful spires, shimmering in the light of the lovely morning sun, burst upon our view. We needed no one to tell us what it was. The Cathedral! my dear wife exclaimed. We knew it in a moment. How sharply its angles and its hundred of spires are cut against the sky. It is like a vision! Some one has said: “a poem wrought in marble.” From whatever standpoint you view Milan Cathedral, it is noble, it is beautiful. You can see it from almost any point of the city, and for many miles outside it is visible. We were at its doors early in the morning. The central one of the five is finely bordered witha bas-relief of birds and fruits, beasts and insects, so ingeniously carved that they look as if they were really living things. On entering, we felt as though we might hear a strange voice saying: “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standst is holy ground.”

Milan Cathedral, Milan

And the lines of Milton at once rose to our lips.

“But let my dear feet never failTo walk the studious cloisters’ pale,And love the high embowered roofWith antique pillars, massive proofAnd storied windows richly dight,Casting a dim religious light.There let the pealing organ blowIn service high and anthems clearAs may with sweetness through mine earDissolve me into ecstacies,And bring all heaven before mine eyes.”

And Tennyson says:

“Oh! Milan! oh! the charming choirs!The giant windows blazoned fires,The height, the space, the gloom, the glory,A mount of marble, a hundred spires.”

We were amazed at the magnitude, the brilliancy, the beauty of all its interior parts. In every nook and cranny and corner there is some lovely statuary, or vase, or painting,and every one is a study in itself, every face is eloquent with expression, and every attitude is full of grace. You can trace the master mind and hand of Michael Angelo or Raphael in the many objects of interest that arrest attention. “Long rows of fluted columns, like huge mountains, divide the building into broad aisles.” The lovely stained glass windows, one of which contains no less than sixty panes; these throw in the soft morning light their shadows upon the marble floor of the aisles. We quietly strolled along, viewing with admiration the pictures and mosaics so artistically arranged by their thousands of small pieces of coloured glass, until the whole seems to have the finish of a picture. Our guide showed us many things of interest, which we might have missed but for his aid. A piece of sculpture, the colour of a coffee bean, was shown to us, and our guide stated it was believed to be the work of that famous artist, Phidias. It is a figure of a man without a skin, with every vein, artery and muscle, every fibre and tendon and tissue of the human frame shown in the minutest detail. It was not a very attractive object to look upon, yet it was a work of skill and genius. The staircases to the roof are of the whitest of white marble. There is no stone, no brick, no wood apparently amongst itsbuilding material. We did not feel like going up the one hundred and eighty-two steps, to gain the summit of this great block, we contented ourselves with a general view from the floor. The statues up in the niches high, looked like tiny dolls, while they are really the size of a man. There are niches for nearly five thousand statues, but only about three thousand are filled up-to-date. We were not allowed to see the treasures and relics, these are most valuable and curious. We learn there is treasure inside the coffers to the value of six million francs. This is in silver and gold bas-reliefs and images of Bishops, Cardinals, Madonnas and Saints, Crosses, Croziers and Candlesticks. For relics they have a stone from the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, a fragment of the purple robe worn by Our Saviour, two of St. Paul’s fingers, and a bone of Judas Iscariot, a nail from the real cross on which Our Saviour died. Once every year these sacred relics come out of their dusty archives, and are carried in a grand procession through the city, amid the acclaims of a deluded people. On the High Altar is a very fine tabernacle of gilt bronze adorned with figures of Our Saviour and the twelve disciples, the gift of one of the ancient Popes. A magnificent candelabrum hangs from the roof of the choirstall. Beneath the choir is a small subterranean church, in which services are held in the winter months, as it is much warmer than in the great cathedral above. This lower church is from the designs of Pellegrini, and from this church is an entrance to the Chapel of St. Carlo. This Saint, it appears, was born about 1505, and was specially good to the poor, as he sold his life interest in some property and distributed it amongst the hospitals and charities of the city. He tried to introduce some salutary improvements into the church, for the scandalous manner of living of the priests had become notorious. For his desire to reform their habits, an attempt was made to assassinate him. Several of the attempts failed, they then hired a priest named Farina to execute the bloody deed. He gained access to this private chapel, and as San Carlo was kneeling before the altar, he fired at him with an old blunderbuss, just at the moment he was chanting: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” The bullet struck him on the back but did not penetrate his silken stole, but dropped harmlessly to the ground. This failure of the attempt to murder him was considered an interposition of Divine Providence. He died, however, at the early age of forty-six. His death washastened by the severe austerity of his life. His body is deposited in a gorgeous shrine of silver, the gift of Philip IV., of Spain, and he lies in his full canonicals and can be seen through panes of rock crystals. Upon the sarcophagus is worked in rich tapestry San Carlo’s favourite motto: “Humility.” There are several busts of San Carlo, also a fine statue. A mitre, also said to be worn by this Italian worthy during the plague, it is beautifully embroidered with feathers of the choicest and richest hues. There are many churches in all the cities of Italy that are full of interest, some have been so much modernized that, from the outside, there appears nothing unusual, but once you are inside, surprise follows surprise. Saint Ambrogio is one of these. The moment you get inside you are interested, statues of costly marble, silver shrines, columns of marble, vast and numerous. One of the great sights is the splendid facing of the altar, which is a marvellous display of the goldsmiths’ art. A fee of five francs must be paid to see it, the front of the altar is of rich plates of gold, the back and sides are of silver, all richly enamelled and set with precious stones, the golden front is in three divisions, each contains smaller compartments; in the centre one are nine containing the emblems of thefour Evangelists and the twelve Apostles. The transfiguration is also clearly seen amongst them. On one side are to be seen eight angels bearing vials, on the other side are the four archangels—Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel. But the back is quite as full of interest; like the front it consists of three grand compartments, and these are divided into similar tablets. On one of the first is seen a swarm of bees buzzing around the head of a sleeping child. The legend, when explained, tells us that when St. Ambrose was born in the year 340A.D., a swarm of bees were thus seen around the head of the infant while in his cradle while lying in the palace of his father, and as no harm followed, it was said to be an omen of his future eloquence and power. He was chosen Bishop of Milan in the year 375A.D.Other emblems, indeed they are too numerous to mention. On the right side of the nave is a large serpent of brass. Tradition states it is the serpent of brass which was set up in the wilderness for the serpent-bitten Israelites to look upon and live. Tradition is not always truth. In the centre of the choir is a curious marble throne, called the chair of St. Ambrose, its appearance is very ancient, it is decorated with figures of lions and strange carvings. We left this interesting sanctumas we had left other churches—impressed, instructed and grieved. The Brera Picture Gallery or Museum is also well worth a visit. It originally belonged to the Umiliate Order of Jesuits. It is of immense size, and its frescoes are simply magnificent. Amongst them I may name “The Virgin and Child, with St. John and the Lamb”; three girls playing a game then called “hot cockles”; “A youth riding on a white horse”; “Child seated amongst vines and grapes”; “The Virgin and St. Joseph proceeding to their marriage at the Temple”; two minstrels, such as usually accompany wedding parties; “The martyrdom of St. Sebastian;” “The Israelites preparing to leave Egypt”; “The Prophet Habakkuk awakened by the Angel”; “Three cupids with musical instruments.” I believe there are thirteen rooms all full of the finest works of arts to be found anywhere out of Rome. The botanical gardens are not, to my mind, equal even to our own in this country. The Grand Hospital of Milan is well worth looking at from the outside, built in the year 1456. The first stone was laid by Antonia Filarte. As you enter the great gateway, a very fine quadrangle appears in view, and there is a double colonnade of arches, twenty-one on one side and nineteen on the other. I was told that over thirtythousand patients passed through this hospital every year. It can accommodate at once about five thousand people. Monuments abound outside that have been raised to the memory of the principal benefactors. The theatres of Milan are really palaces of beauty; indeed, I learn that Milan is known by the magnificence of its theatres. The principal one is La Scala. It is said to be the largest and the best arranged of any in Italy, It is capable of holding three thousand six hundred spectators easily. There are forty-one boxes in each row. We did not go inside as our time was fully taken up with other scenes and places. There is a Church of England, or rather services rendered by a clergyman of the Church of England. The Protestants in Milan are very few. There are several Free Church services conducted in the city, but the buildings are not of any special character. From observation I should say four-fifths of the inhabitants are Roman Catholics. The city has now a population of over four hundred thousand. We visited a good many parts of this beautiful busy city. It has some very fine squares, some noble monuments, some pretty gardens; also shops of all kinds, and goods may be had at reasonable prices. We secured some small mementoes that were not very difficult topack and carry away. After a few days stay we agreed to move on. So packing once again, and settling up our accounts, and tipping the waiters (it is unpardonable to leave without doing this), our luggage was once more on the ’bus, and we were lumbering along to the railway station, now to make our way to Como, and so on to Lucerne through the great St. Gothard tunnel. We had only a little while to wait, and our train came in with a roar and a hiss. A few minutes and we have left behind us one of the sights that will linger long with us. “The Cathedral of Milan,” for some distance we could see it behind us, and in front of us snow-clad mountains some twenty miles away, our interest deepened as we proceeded, for the beauties nature’s bounteous hand has spread all over Italy is one continual surprise and joy. In less than an hour our train steamed into the station at Como. This is not a large place, but looks very pretty as it nestles in quite an amphitheatre of hills. Como was the home of Pliny, and it is said to have been a very fashionable resort at the time of the Cæsars. In the middle ages it became an independent republic, and for a long time held its own against the large city of Milan. It is now a very prosperous little town, and it is said rivals Lyons in somerespects for its beautiful production of silks. It is surrounded by Olive yards and Orange groves, and near by is the beautiful lake of Como. This is one of the most beautiful of all lakes of lovely Italy we have seen, and we had seen several from our carriage windows, and it was only from this point we could gaze upon this scene of loveliness. Time did not permit us to leave the train to explore and to enjoy. We could see its blue waters shimmering under a warm glow of sunshine. The surroundings are very interesting and beautiful, the eye does not grow weary in tracing the outline of the hills which surround it. I do not wonder at the Psalmist saying: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” Psalm 121. For surely earth cannot present, nor unassisted reason fancy or conceive an object more profoundly significant of Divine Majesty than these hills clothed in their vestures at the top, by everlasting snow. In their presence “There is silence deep as death, and the boldest hold their breath.” The slopes of the hills are covered with a very lovely verdure of green, intersected here and there by glens. On one side there are crags and precipices, under whose shelter the vine hangs in bright green festoons. The Olive tree also is in good evidence, as shown by its gnarled andknotted stem; Orchards and fine Chestnut trees in rich profusion. Passing along we see the white foam of a waterfall as it shines amongst the verdure or leaps over the rocky crags and comes dashing and splashing down the hillside. Further on we see the little white houses dotting the hillsides, as if they grew out of the same. Then a single arch of a bridge that spans a small ravine and unites one little cluster of houses with another, giving interest to the whole surroundings. In another hour and a half we were steaming into beautiful Lugano.

Lugano: The river Tessin and its bridge of ten arches: Bellinzono: Entrance to the great St. Gothard Tunnel: Andermatt Station: St. Bernard’s Hospice: The Devil’s Bridge: The Wood Cutter at Work: William Tell’s Chapel: His story: Entrance to Lucerne: Our Hotel: Our visit to the mountain top of Sonnenberg, etc.

Our stay at Lugano was only for a few minutes, it looks very much like the town of Buxton, in Derbyshire, “Peakland.” The houses are built of stone, the streets are white and clean looking. It has a population of about 7,000, and has a little trade in silks, leather, hats, and some shoes. It is an important railway depot, as it stands very near the frontier, dividing Italy and Switzerland. The Roman Catholics have a very fine church, and, as an accessory, a very extensive nunnery. The river Tessin runs near and the town is protected by a very large dam, nearly a mile long. We crossed this river as we left for Lucerne, over a fine granite bridge of ten arches and something like seven hundred feet long. As we left behind us this pretty little town, we were soon recompensed by ever changing scenery that no pen can fully describe.

St. Gothard Tunnel

About an hour brought us to another stopping place, Bellinzono. From here we run side by side with the river Ticino, a very fine river, and here began to ascend rapidly towards the Alps and the great tunnel of St. Gothard, which is the largest in the world, and by a long way the most costly. On our way we had a good view of Monte San Salvatore, some three thousand feet high, and beautifully covered with green vegetation right to the summit, and its sides are dotted over with little white homesteads, they look very pretty in the distance. We soon reached the entrance to the great tunnel, which is a marvel of engineering skill. It is built in corkscrew fashion. As we proceeded into the darkness, in about ten minutes or less we came into daylight for a few seconds and found we were about two hundred feet above the little church we had passed a few minutes before. Again we plunged into darkness, again we emerge into daylight, only to find the church is now about six hundred feet below us, and this is repeated, we see the church five times and ultimately we reach the top, about seven thousand feet above sea level. I think the station is called Andermatt. Here we stopped for a little while, we bought some postcards with views of the tunnel and of some of the scenery about here. The coldwas intense, the air very rarified. Not far from here is a Hospice where the dogs, the great St. Bernard dogs are kept for the purpose of protecting the mountain pass. Before the railway was made there was a road that was passable with guides and mules, though, not unfrequently, storms would overtake the party and they would get lost in the snow, or some venturesome individual would go very near the edge of the precipice, and, as the snow hung over considerably, with his weight it would break loose and cause an avalanche of snow to fall, which would take the whole party into the gulf below, sometimes two or three thousand feet. At other times, overtaken by terrible snowstorms, the party and guide would lose their way, and so get buried in the drifts. On such nights the monks of the hospice would go out with the dogs and listen for cries of help. It is stated that scores have been saved from being frozen to death by the great St. Bernard dogs. After leaving Andermatt, we again pierced the mountain in this great tunnel, now we began to descend. Coming into daylight the sight that met our view was simply enchanting, we were right on the top of the Alps and could see the great peaks and the lesser mountains covered with eternal snow. Down we descended to Wassen, herewe crossed a foaming cataract (by an iron bridge) that had cut for itself a deep gorge in the side of the mountain. A little further we crossed what has come to be called “The Devil’s Bridge.” This is in the midst of scenery of the wildest nature imagination can conceive. Why it is called by such a name I don’t know, only the awful desolation of the place, the awe inspiring grandeur of the cliffs, the terrible roar of the river one hundred feet below, and the shrieking of the wild wind, aptly called by the natives, “Hutshelm,” or “hat rogue.” Certainly it is an eerie, creepy sensation that steals over you as you pass. On we glide, now through narrow rocky defiles, then crossing chasms of great depths, as we did so we leaned out of the windows and tried to guess the depth of the yawning gulf beneath us. It made us dizzy to look down. Proceeding, we came into the pine zone, and the black forests of these lovely pine trees seemed to be stuck on their mountain shelves as if staring at us and saying: “Why do you come uninvited into this quiet sanctuary of nature, too deep, too awful to be trodden by man?” Passing along we discovered the woodcutters were clearing out the pine trees on their mountain heights. To fell the trees the men seemed to be chained or roped on the rocky precipices,and the trees, when cut down, fall upon wires ingeniously hung from trees or large posts fastened in the mountain side and reaching for a distance of two or three miles. We saw the trunks of trees sliding along and down these wires as fast as our train was running. We were not long before we came to the Lake of Uri, which may be said to be out of the mountain ranges, and just by there we saw the Chapel, erected at a very early date, and re-built in 1880, to the memory of Switzerland’s great hero, William Tell.

William Tell’s Monument

He was famous as a crossbowman, could shoot an arrow with great precision. The Canton in which he was born and lived was partly, if not entirely, under Austrian rule of that time, and so imperious was Gesler, the Governor, that he demanded of his people that when his hat was hung up in the market place of the town, every one passing should doff his hat and bow to it. William Tell refused to be so humiliated, and, as the result of his refusal, he was arrested, and it was demanded of him to shoot through an apple placed on the head of his only child, a boy of ten, at a distance of fifty yards. This, Tell accomplished without injury to his son; he, however, declared in his own mind the next arrow should go into the heart of Gesler, the tyrant. Tell, however, was not liberated, butwas being taken a prisoner to the castle across this lake. While crossing, a very sudden squall arose, threatening to upset the boat which had Gesler and his prisoner Tell on board. So severe was the storm that Tell was liberated from his chains and asked to take an oar, it was known that he was a clever oarsman. Tell saw his opportunity, he ran the boat on the rocks, then leaping out he pushed the boat off into the lake again. Gesler, however, managed to land, but he fell to the arrow of Tell who had watched and waited for him for some time. To be relieved of so imperious a Governor was to constitute Tell an hero, hence the keeping his memory green by building a chapel; he is also commemorated in song as well as in story. Tell sings:

“Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once again!I hold to you the hands you first beheld,To show they still are free. Methinks I hearA spirit in your echoes answer me,And bid your tenant welcome to his homeAgain! Oh! sacred forms, how proud you look!How high you lift your heads unto the sky;How huge you are! how mighty and how free,Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose smileMakes glad—whose frown is terrible—whose formsRobed or unrobed, do all the impress wearOf awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,I’m with you once again! I call to youWith all my voice, I hold my hands to youTo show they still are free, I rush to youAs though I could embrace you! Scaling yon heightI saw an eagle near its browO’er the abyss: his proud expanded wingsLay calm and motionless upon the air,As if he floated there without their aid,By the sole act of his unlorded will,I bent my bow, yet kept he rounding stillHis airy circle, as if in great delight.The death that threatened him, he knew it not,I could not shoot!—’Twas liberty,I turned my bow aside and let him soar away.

Passing along we were on the side of the lovely lake of Lucerne, and as it was after seven o’clock as we rounded the hillside, and passed the rocky precipices of the hills we could see the twinkling lights of the town some two miles away. We steamed into a beautiful station, I think Lucerne station, for beauty, for comfort, and arrangement, is the best we have seen on our lengthy tour.We alighted from the carriage on to a lovely platform. Porters in attendance, our luggage conveyed most expeditiously to the ’bus of the Hotel de L’Europe, and soon we were bowling along to that very delightful hotel. We found the place all that could be desired by the most scrupulous. We had an excellent bedroom, clean, dry and comfortable. Our luggage disposed of, a wash and brush, and away we go to enjoy a splendid table-de-hote. We did justice, I am sure, to the good things so abundantly provided, for there was no stint, no lack of variety, and served with great delicacy and tact. We were not long after we had had dessert before we began to feel we needed Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep, and to bed we went. Seeing the nets for the mosquitoes were hanging on, we examined the room as far as we could and we came to the conclusion the room was void of the troublesome creatures. Sleep fell upon us sound and refreshing, when we awoke we found we had been the victims of the evil creatures, for we were both bitten in one or more places. Still, as the Yorkshire man said, “It mud a bin war.” We arose refreshed, and were anxious to see the Rigi mountain, and the still more popular Pilatus. First we drew the blinds, stepped out on to the balcony, we found a lovely garden underour window. It was beautifully laid out with flower beds and gravel walks. We stood and gazed, seeming to doubt if it was real, that we were really on earth. Could it be the Garden of Eden? It is like an exquisite dream. The scene seems to thrill like the sweetest chords of music. The hotel is like a palace, such lovely roses, charming walks, sculpture and vases on all sides, broad flights of stone steps leading in and out of the grounds to the hotel, and around the grounds massive trees with all manner of names. The Lake of Lucerne, just peeping through the trees, and the mountain ranges beyond, peak above peak covered with their snow white mantle made the scene entrancing. After we had tired our eyes with looking on the lovely landscape we went to enjoy our dejeuner of fish, fowl, bacon, eggs and coffee. We left our hotel for the first visit into the lovely town of Lucerne. It is not a large town but well built and kept very clean. The accommodation for getting about is good, by tram or ’bus or cab, and not too expensive. We soon found ourselves in the centre of an industry of silk and cotton works, making all kinds of fancy articles of ladies’ wear and of the very finest materials. Young girls sitting in the shop fronts, and, indeed, in the doorway, plying their needles and crocheting hooks.A large number are employed in this branch of industry. Also the shops for toys were strangely attractive, chiefly made of wood by the mountaineers, while waiting for parties. The Swiss guide lives in the rocky regions, has a cow or two, and two or three goats, and is prepared to be used as a guide, or he fills in his time with making boxes of all sizes and shapes, pipes, animals of various kinds, indeed, almost anything you can imagine he can carve out of wood, with his knife. Time is not very valuable, so he works away until he has completed his work, which finds its way into the shops and so, finally, gets to England, France or Germany, as a toy for boys’ or girls’ amusement. We soon found our way to the front of the Lake of Lucerne. It is a charming lake, the colour is simply indescribable, it is neither blue nor green, but a lovely tint made up of both. As we looked across this beautiful water we could see orchards and meadows sloping right down to the water’s brink. Straight in front stood the mighty mountain called the Rigi. As we stood awe struck with delight to watch the vapours chased away by the coming sun and the rugged face of the mountain laid bare in all its grandeur and power, the sun shed its glow over rock and tree, and the stony monarch seemed to salute you with a smile.On the other side, that is at our right hand, old Pilatus, rugged and bare, seemed to look down upon the lake with a frown, and between the two giant mountains we could see the wondrous Alps, peak upon peak in a wonderful variety, clad in their mantle of eternal snow. And now above us and around us is the sunshine of, to us, unusual brilliancy and a sky of faultless blue, not a single cloud to be seen anywhere. The picture is one that will never fade from our memories. It will enter into our life to remain a constant joy to think of.

It was our intention to go up by rail to the top of the Rigi or Pilatus or both, but other sights were so attractive that we kept putting off that pleasure, as there seemed to be doubts if, on the very summit, there might not be clouds to obscure the view, as the height of the Rigi is six thousand feet, the height of old Pilatus seven thousand feet, and there is an old saying put in rhyme that

“If Pilatus wears his cap, serene will be the day;If his collar he puts on, you may venture on the way.But if his sword he wields, at home you’d better stay.”

We ventured a visit up the Sonnenbergh.This is done by train, or it would be more correct to say by carriage, for the train consists of one carriage only. The engines seem to have their boilers tilted up on ends. The railway has a central rail which is cogged, and into this endless cog fits a wheel underneath the engine. This is really the driving wheel by which it slowly moves up the steep gradient. We passed farms, orchards and plantations, up and up. It is a curious sensation to find yourself steadily moving up without any effort of your own, but still up we went until we landed on a lovely plateau, with a charming hotel. The view from this mountain height was beyond description. We left the train and wandered into the woods and viewed our surroundings. I had a camera with me so must get one or two pictures. We were ready to return by the next train after being up almost in the clouds for two hours. Our curious old steamer soon put us in safety again by the side of the lake, and from here we made our way to our hotel for some refreshments and for a rest. Again leaving our good “hostel” we visited the Glacier Gardens, these are now enclosed and protected, and a smallfee is charged to see the natural wonders of this lovely and picturesque scenery. At the very entrance you see what is called “The Lion Monument.” It is cut out of the solid rock.

Lion of Lucerne

The glacier gardens: The Lion of Lucerne: The glacier mill holes: The museum: The Bridge over the Reuss: The Cathedral: Pilatus Mountain: Leaving Lucerne: Zurich: Lake of Zurich: Zwingli, the reformer.

As we entered the Glacier Gardens our eyes were at once drawn to this massive and very interesting and pathetic piece of sculpture, “The Lion of Lucerne.” The smooth face of this quarry is about fifty feet high, and it looks to be about as wide, it is overshadowed by some very nice trees and climbing plants. It is protected by a wooden rail, so you could not, if you so wished, carve your name on the rocky surface. In the very centre of this vast square is a wounded and dying lion. The size in stone (for it is really a part of the rock itself) is about twenty-eight feet in length. It was hewn by the order and from a model by the renowned Danish sculptor, Morwalsden, and was finished in the year 1821. This famous masterpiece is dedicated to the memory of the Swiss Guards of Louis XVI.,who fell a prey to the fury of the populace, as they retreated unarmed into the French Tuileries. The sculptured figure is in a lying position, and a broken arrow or spear is in its side. I don’t remember ever being so impressed with an object in stone as I was by this. It has an expression of the deepest grief, and such as must have moved many to tears. Above the figure you may read (as it is carved into the rock) the following words: “To the fidelity and bravery of the Swiss.” Beneath it the names of the twenty-six officers who fell on that terrible day. Passing into the gardens we were soon beside one of the glacier pots or holes. These glacier pots or mill holes were discovered in the year 1872, and it is asserted by geologists that they were formed in far past ages. One of them, Albert Heim, says: “I hereby testify both as a geologist and an eye witness of the first unexpected discovery, as also of the subsequent careful excavations of this wonderful phenomenon, that the hand of man had nothing to do with the formation of these glacier mills and polished surface of the glacier, nor with the erratic boulders that lie about, or in those mill holes, but that we have here to deal with a marvellous operation offree organic nature, a relic of a time when these countries were not inhabited by man.” In those days almost the whole of Switzerland and, indeed, the greatest part of the Northern Hemisphere was buried under immense masses of ice, as can now be proved with the greatest certainty, with here and there an oasis inhabited by animals long ago extinct. Our attention was drawn to a large hole in the solid rock almost round, and the sides quite smooth and about eight or ten feet deep, and at the bottom a large boulder or stone, also smooth. This hole is made by the whirling of the stone round and round by the force of melting ice, causing the waters to flow in strong descending streams. It is thus these glacier mills are formed. In these gardens are quite a number of these interesting specimens of the work of Nature in the far past ages. The largest of all the mill stones we saw, was one which weighs over five tons. This having in some remote age, been whirled round and round like a toy. There are also some large boulders carried by the glaciers from the high Alps and left here. We also found some very fine specimens of fossils and ferns that had been petrified into stone. We left this most interestingpart of the gardens and mounted up a large number of steps to the imitation of a lovely little Swiss Chalet, surrounded by tall trees which seem to be growing out of the side of the rocky eminence on which the Chalet is perched. It is called “An Alpine Cottage.” The president of the Alpine Club describes it thus: “This cottage, cleverly and accurately imitated, gives us a true picture of these highland places of refuge. Not many men, and still fewer women, are enabled to see such a building in its airy district. Here it is, within reach of every one in perfect imitation of the real thing, inside and out. Even the inscription, here dedicated to the section Pilatus is not wanting. Let us walk in! The hut contains that homely furniture, those poor and scanty utensils, the view of which, however, is so welcome to him who, in the evening twilight, tired and weary, enters the hospitable and friendly space, and makes use of them to take his frugal meal. Let us go to the window! O wonder! what a sight! We are, as if by magic, transported to God’s beautiful world of the Alps. We stand far above the glacier which descends majestically from the land of eternal snow. It requires a long time and a close observation torealize that this is an illusion. The foreground is a plastic formation as in a panorama. All the characteristics of the world of glaciers are wonderfully rendered with scientific accuracy.” I have here given in his own words the description of this most wonderful imitation of a Swiss Cottage and its surroundings. The museum is one that would give entertainment and information to an enquirer after knowledge for some time, particularly in geology and the condition of our race in these regions in the far back past. Instruments of defence made of stone or flint or of bone. These have all been discovered in the immediate neighbourhood and preserved. A pick axe made of flint, chisels of flint stone, sling-stones, lance-like instruments, earthenware vessels, carbonized wheat, half of an apple petrified, hand hatchet of bone, knife of bone, dagger of bone, dagger of horn, shovel of stag’s horn, tumbler of horn, shuttle made of bear’s teeth, sewing needle, very crude, made of bird’s bone. In another part of the museum there are groups of the animals of the Alps. The otter, the eagle, the horned owl, the bearded vulture, a group of Alpine hares, a wild boar, a group of bears, a pole cat, the common ibex, foxes, Alpine jackdaw, wild cats, seaswallow, the chamois, the St. Bernard dog, and many other interesting relics of past ages, preserved for the pleasure and benefit of the present generation. A fine collection of the mountain ferns are to be seen in their richness and beauty, with notices of the places in the Alps where they may be found. There is the ice grotto, which we did not descend to see, but we were greatly pleased with our visit to this very interesting place. Before leaving the gardens I took a snap-shot of my dear little wife on the bridge, crossing from the glacier gardens to the Alpine Chalet. We visited several other places of interest in the town, one, particularly, attracted our attention. It is a very old bridge over the river Reuss. It has stood against “the iron tooth of time which devours men and their works together,” for about four hundred years. Anything more quaint I think I never saw. It is covered in and is in length about one hundred yards. In the triangular spaces formed by the beams that go to support the roof, pictures have been painted, I should think for the amusement of passers over, as they are not, as a whole, very edifying. I should say, perhaps, two hundred paintings are to be found on the bridge. There are some that may claimsome merit; these are representations of the various battles and victories by the Swiss armies. About the centre of the bridge is a curiosity shop or bazaar, containing toys, bronzes, etc. Hastening across, for time began to be valuable, as we had seen so little of this wonderful city, and our time for leaving grew near, we needed to use the time left us wisely and well. The old cathedral must be visited. We had, however, seen so many, it hardly seemed likely this one would be at all interesting, but we determined to pay it a visit; and, although there is much about it that is similar to others we had seen, still there is a difference. On the outside and near the entrance is a large metal plaque in bronze, with a large cross on which is an image of the suffering Saviour, and a good number of names of persons deceased, who had left the instructions for the erection of the tablet. Inside, the usual array of bowls of holy water, confessional boxes, candles burning on the altar. There is also some very fine sculpture in marble, also some very fine pictures by the old masters. Of course it is Roman Catholic, consequently the priest is in evidence everywhere. We left the church with feelings that a great deal of the religion of theRoman Catholics, as we have seen it on the continent, is a soulless religion. It has a framework but no soul. We really hoped, before leaving Lucerne, to have gone up the Pilatus mountain, as from there we understand, can be had a splendid view of the Bernese hills, the highest of which is the Tomlishorn, about seven thousand feet. It used to be most difficult to climb the Pilatus, but now it is easy and safe. It used to be associated with legends of hobgoblins, fairies, dragons, etc. It is said to get its name from Pontius Pilate, who crucified the Christ, after which he was so smitten with remorse that he fled the Judean country and found his way to Switzerland, finding here in this awe inspiring mountain, a fit place to close his wretched career, and in a tiny lake near on the summit, he ended his miserable life. There is still a superstition abroad that his spirit, in its restlessness, visits this mountain periodically, and may be seen washing its hands as we read “And when Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person; see ye to it.” Matthew, chapter 27, verse 24. It may,however, be only imaginary, but superstition dies hard in such lonely localities. As we could not visit its summit this time, we must content ourselves with viewing it in the distance. And now our time in this lovely city closes. Our stay has been of the pleasantest; the manager of our hotel (The Hotel de L’Europe) has been to us the very essence of kindness; even the mosquitoes were fairly generous, only on one or two occasions have they troubled us. So we packed up, paid our bills and left, very reluctantly. It was on a very lovely morning we bade adieu to the most pleasant and enjoyable scenery of the lakes and mountains around the pretty town of Lucerne. Having boarded the train our first impulse was to get snugly into a corner and live over again the past few days, but the scenery around us was of such a character, we could not rest in forgetfulness of things passing. We could see in the distance the great Jura mountains. Then near to us homely, lovely scenery; there a little stone farm and farmyard, a little stream flowing by, the farmer’s maid on an iron bridge spanning the stream, giving the whole surroundings a picture of rusticity. A little further and we see an old mill, with its massive wheelin motion and the miller’s man in dusty garments, standing with his arms akimbo, giving orders for the unloading of a heavily laden mule wagon; around us is forest and field in pleasing variety. We are not very long before we near the lake of Zurich, which is very extensive, and like all the Swiss lakes, it is very beautiful. Then to Zurich. I was greatly surprised at the importance and the accommodation at and about the railway station. I think it was one of the best we had seen, and for attractiveness I should say the finest. The town itself is of importance, having a population of over one hundred and twenty thousand people. From the railway the city shows itself well, as a part of it is built on the side of a rocky eminence, with the River Limmet running at the foot. Indeed, this river divides the town, the upper and lower Zurich. There are six bridges (and they know how to make useful and beautiful bridges on the continent). Three are used for carriages, wagons, etc., and the other three only for foot passengers. The streets in Zurich are very narrow, crooked and dirty. On the hill stands conspicuously, a grand Cathedral, the Grosse Minster; of course, it is a Roman Cathedral, but it is, Ilearn, very rich in sculpture and pictures, although, I fear, very poor in that which should make any church rich—the Divine in-dwelling. There is a very fine Post Office, and all the modern appliances and conveniences for the acceleration of information. It is a very ancient town, indeed, it was, as history tells us, at one time a Roman city. Zwingli, the great Swiss reformer, played an important part in the history of Zurich. It was then the centre of the reformation in Switzerland, and Zwingli was leader. He was a contemporary with Martin Luther. He had studied at Basle and Bern, and was made parish priest in 1506. He was a great student of Holy Scripture; it is said he copied the epistles of St. Paul in Greek and committed them to memory wholly. He accompanied the Pope’s army against France as a Chaplain, and was granted a pension by the Pope for his sympathetic attention to the wounded and the dying. His knowledge of the Bible led him to examine closely into the teaching of the Romish Church and he, led doubtless by the good Spirit of God, discovered many things his conscience could not approve amongst them—the sale of indulgences. He wrote a work of great importance condemning the feasts of theChurch, also against the worship of images, the mass, the confessional, and other abuses he conceived existed. In 1524 he married a lady of standing and importance, by this act he broke away from the Romish Church and incurred the Pope’s displeasure. Soon after this he joined the German Reformers; at that time Martin Luther was leader. Zwingli’s Bible was to him everything, he found in it complete and unbroken rest to his soul. To him it was the one only ground of appeal, also the test of faith and practice. On minor points such as baptism and sacraments, Luther and he did not see eye to eye; but on the main points of Christian theology and general church discipline they were in agreement. He fought and fell in a war between Zurich Canton and the Roman Catholic Cantons of Switzerland, in the year 1531. His great battle cry was “my countrymen, trust in God.” Our stay at Zurich was only short, we soon found ourselves en route for Basle.

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